


valentine burnout

by pestifer



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stress Baking, Valentine's Day, need i say more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29825394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pestifer/pseuds/pestifer
Summary: Osamu usually doesn't feel anxious, but every now and then, life gets to him. School, volleyball, a lingering crush on his seatmate... Sometimes they all become annoying and sticky like pink chewing gum: you think you've got rid of them when, in fact, they are under the sole of your shoe, and the more you try to shake them off, the more they cling onto you.And what is the last resort of a guy when he feels like he lives inside of a big, strawberry-flavored bubble? He tries to reestablish order, of course. With whisks and spoons and an obscene amount of chocolate.Valentine's day is coming up anyway, right?
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	valentine burnout

Osamu flops down on his chair, cheeks reddened from the cold air of February, and he nearly knocks out on the desk. His grey hair sits askew on the top of his head, but he doesn't care; Monday never feels more dreadful than after a whole night spent baking. Stress baking, to be precise.  
Osamu usually doesn't feel anxious, but every now and then, life gets to him. School, volleyball, a lingering crush on his seatmate... Sometimes they all become annoying and sticky like pink chewing gum: you think you've got rid of them when, in fact, they are under the sole of your shoe, and the more you try to shake them off, the more they cling onto you.

And what is the last resort of a guy when he feels like he lives inside of a big, strawberry-flavored bubble? He tries to reestablish order, of course. With whisks and spoons and an obscene amount of chocolate. 

Valentine's day is coming up anyway, right?

"You look awful today, " Suna pokes his cheek with a pen, leaving a little blue mark. "Whoops, sorry. But seriously, are you okay?"

Osamu doesn't bother lifting his head, with his eyelids droopier than ever. "Yeah, jus'... let me sleep until lunch. I'll be good as new by then." So, he sets off to dreamland, hiding his face in the soft material of his red scarf. 

Suna snorts in amusement as he proceeds to flip open his notebook, searching for a blank page. He'll take notes for Osamu too, and bribe him for a chuupet later. Everything in this world comes with a price, and Suna Rintaro makes sure to never let him forget it. 

A few hours later, Osamu is still sleeping, snoring softly through the bell ringing and the coming and going of hungry students from his class. Suna stretches and nudges him with an elbow, but it's Osamu's twin who barges in and wakes him. His stomping can be heard all the way down the corridor, which usually is not a good sign. 

"Yikes, there's a storm brewing," Ginjima escapes through the front door, "I'm going to the cafeteria!" He nearly collides with Atsumu, who's sporting a highly crafted scowl on his face.

"What's wrong? Someone spit in your food?" Suna snickers, still making some space for him on his desk. 

"Bad grade in maths. If only _someone_ could help me sometimes!" He flicks a stray grain of rice from his bento to Osamu's face, who just shrugs in response. 

"You didn't ask me durin' business hours." He yawns and opens his own lunch box, digging in with enthusiasm. He intentionally leaves a small amount of food for Suna, who slowly picks at it while checking his phone.

It's a habit they've fallen into since their first year. Suna would often forget to pack something to eat had to survive off of sugary drinks to last through afternoon practice. Osamu doesn't like people putting their hands anywhere near his bento but can make an exception if it means no surprise faintings in the locker room. Especially if the person involved is Suna.

Is this how you develop feelings for someone? By sharing meals? He's pretty sure it is _by reading together Lancelot and Geneve_ , but they're not two medieval people involved in an adulterous relationship. So yeah, maybe sharing meals can actually lead to falling in love, as far as Osamu is concerned. 

"What 'business hours', ya moron? You've been bakin' all night!" Atsumu exclaims, shaking Osamu from his romantic reverie. "I bet ya brought the cookies in yer bag."

"I did," He takes a small plastic container from his backpack and reveals the little treasure it contains while a fragrant smell fills their noses. "But not for you, there's more at home." Osamu slaps away his twin's quick fingers, pushing the box towards Suna in a silent request. 

The brunet takes a cookie and bites a corner, chewing it thoughtfully. 

Osamu waits.

He waits for that moment of glory when Suna's face will light up in glee, and he'll declare through happy tears, "This is the best thing I've ever tasted in my entire life!" as angels sing in the background. Maybe he'll even hug him or kiss him soundly on the cheek, which is very uncharacteristic for someone like Suna, but one can only dream.

"It's good," Suna says indeed, in the most anticlimactic way possible. There's no shimmer in his green eyes, no divine choir, nothing.  
Funny how words can get twisted in someone's head and stray from their original meaning. "It's good" becomes "It's good, but not the best, and you'll have to try harder if you want to woo me with just your cooking skills." Osamu doesn't care for perfection as Atsumu does, he never did. But right now, he so wishes to have a pinch of it to sprinkle on his cookies. He pops one in his mouth to check if it lacks something, as another hand reaches for them.

"Wow, these are amazing! I would spend mad money on them if you opened a shop, honestly." Ginjima grins, enjoying his stolen little treat. 

Apparently, the quest to the cafeteria has not gone well today. 

Suna cocks an eyebrow, motioning to his open palm. "Pay up then."

Osamu frowns as he clutches the box to his chest. "Yer not makin' profit off my stress, and they're nearly not as good as the ones they sell in the bakeries. Shoo, I know I'll make more tonight." Says his wounded pride.

The cookies disappear within the next six hours, between the contented hums of his upperclassmen. Kita even asks for the recipe, and Osamu reluctantly gives it to him, pettily pointing out that results may vary according to who eats the sweets in the end. And that should always be true because everyone has different tastes, but still. His cooking god complex whispers in his ear that whatever he makes must be universally appreciated.

"If only you could put this much effort into yer serves..." Kita defeatedly sighs while he hands him a broom to wipe the gym's floor.

The next day, it's brownies. Osamu feels more confident as he takes them out of his backpack. They're soft but not too gooey, with the perfect balance of dark chocolate and sugar. He's managed to take them out of the oven before sunrise, so that should be an accomplishment by itself. 

"They're good," Suna repeats, brushing some fallen crumbs off his lap. Same reaction as the day before, flat tone of voice mixed with a noncommittal shrug.

"Just good?" Osamu asks, nervously clicking a pen.

"Do you want me to write a whole essay on the flavor, the texture, and the smell? Relax, it's not a competition." He gently flicks at Osamu's forehead, who can hardly hide his cheeks, pink from embarrassment.

Does Suna know that he wants to impress him now? How he still hasn't outright laughed in his face for the pathetic attempts is a mystery to Osamu.

But he doesn't give up. For the rest of the week, his classmates receive free treats, ranging from matcha-flavored rice cakes to gingerbread. They play as unaware test subjects, and at least their reactions are more satisfying than Suna's dull ones.

He only takes a little break on Saturday, but he still haunts the kitchen at two a.m, illuminated by the faint yellow light above the stove. 

"'Samu? What're you doin'?"

Atsumu quietly peeks in, groggy voice and hushed steps, propping himself on the counter. His dyed hair is sticking up on one side of his head, and he's wearing a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. "Ohh, spicy ramen? Looks good."

"Get another bowl, please." Osamu stops his twin from drilling his chopsticks directly in the steaming pot as he cracks one more egg on top of it. He knows it's Atsumu's favorite part.

"Psht, ya don't mind when it's Sunarin, and you get squirmy when it's me? Yer own brother? I should be offended." He slurps the noodles with gusto, swinging his feet back and forth like a little kid. "So, when are ya gonna tell him?"

Osamu halts with his mouth full, scrunching his nose in... irritation? Surprise? Well, not that he can actually try to keep secrets from Atsumu since they've been together every day since birth. Besides, his brother is not stupid. He picks up on minimal things and knows that Osamu has always had a soft spot for a certain boy with observant green eyes and a terrible, terrible posture.

"Tell him what?" Osamu still asks because feigning ignorance and hearing Atsumu nag is actually pretty entertaining.

"What d'ya mean 'tell him what.' Tell him that you have a crush on him half the size of Japan." Atsumu points out, waving his chopsticks in the air. "You two have been gross all week. And even before, so. Might as well make it official." 

Osamu snorts because he has thought about it many times. He knows how other people do it.

Some speculate that the best way to confess is under a cherry tree in full bloom, as little rosy petals flutter in the spring's breeze. Others are still hooked on traditions and say that giving your uniform's button remains the coolest way to declare your most genuine feelings to the other person.

Osamu knows that if he ever considers doing either of these things, the situation will get ridiculous.

One scenario will result in an intense allergic reaction from Suna, who avoids flowers and other unidentified wool-like things floating in the air like the plague. Osamu can't help but think that putting his crush in a similar environment could be labeled as murder, and he's definitely not trying to kill Suna, so that's out of the equation. The second situation seems a bit more doable, without taking into account the whole graduation day. Between pushy relatives, big bouquets passed around like candy, and the menacing order that _yes, he has to take that specific photograph because it is a moment that needs to be remembered and framed in every corner of the house_ , he's not sure if he can confess while surrounded by chaos.

But honestly, baking for Suna for a whole week is... half of a confession, right? Now, Osamu just needs to add the actual "I like you" part. He needs to say it. Directly. To Suna's face. 

He shoves a handful of noodles in his mouth, wincing a little at the spiciness that settles in his throat.

"Yeah, maybe I'll do it." He says to Atsumu, who's shamelessly scraping the bottom of the saucepan. 

On Sunday afternoon, Osamu finds himself drained out, with his skin breaking out on various spots and with no intention of seeing anyone. His parents are out since early morning, and Atsumu has left without a word, stealing his favorite jacket.

That means Osamu can burrow himself under the warm cocoon of the kotatsu and pass out for as long as he wants to. Maybe when he wakes up, it'll be April already, and he'll have hatched into a new man. No stress, no kitchen nightmares, no taxing homework, and no butterfly feelings to weigh him down. 

Instead, the doorbell dings quite insistently, and he has to make sure the noise is real and not some random ringing made up by his sleep-deprived mind before opening the door.

"Sunarin? Whatcha doin' here?"

Suna is shivering on the doorstep, drowned in a black coat and the longest scarf he could ever buy, looped around his neck like a vicious - but useful - snake. He actually looks fashionably put together, and Osamu frowns, glancing at his old sweatpants and faded sweater. He prays to God there are no visible holes in them as he makes space for Suna on the genkan, trapping the biting cold outside.

"I wanted to steal your kotatsu, and I brought something to eat," Suna says, brandishing a white paper bag. "C'mon, I can't feel my toes." He peels off his shoes and outer layer and quickly pads to the living room, enveloped by the warmth of the Miya household.

Osamu follows him, mind still dazy, and stops by the kitchen. 

"Want somethin' to drink? I can make some tea." He thoughtfully omits the part that he's not allowed to touch any kitchen utensils until his mother says so (see: in a month or two). Suna definitely doesn't need to know that. And boiling water is not a crime against humanity, so he triumphantly strides into the living room with two hot mugs, the smell of cinnamon and ginger trailing behind him.

"Tea for Yer Majesty Suna Rintaro, please make space for a humble servant." Osamu singsongs, carefully placing the cups on the table and sliding under the covers. He nearly kicks Suna's right leg, which can't really be avoided since they're both very tall teenagers cramped in a small space.

Even though Osamu doesn't mind the closeness at all.

"Idiot..." Suna mutters with no bite to his words, covering the tiny quirk of his lips with the back of his hand. They slip into a comfortable silence, sipping their tea until Suna speaks again after a few moments.

"Oh, you can open the bag, you know." 

Osamu takes it with the spirit of a five-year-old on Christmas Eve, ready to satisfy both his curiosity and the appetite growing in his stomach. 

Inside the clear plastic box, there are ten cookies, very similar to the ones he's made at the beginning of the week. If Osamu has to admit it, they're an uglier version. Some of them are big and have an unhealthy burnt shade, others are weirdly shaped, and there's a tiny one that seems to have escaped the oven before cooking all the way through.

"I made them for you." Suna declares at that moment.

Osamu halts.

Should he thank him? Should he be suspicious? They don't look poisonous, but you never know unless you try. He hopes it isn't a joint prank between Suna and his brother, and he forgets how to run his mouth before blurting out, "Why?"

"Well, it's Valentine's day, and I wanted to confess. So I made them." 

"What?"

"I like you, Osamu." 

Bewilderment is not descriptive enough to portray Osamu's reaction to Suna's words, as he gapes like a fool in front of him.

First, because he's totally forgotten that it's Valentine's day. Probably one of the most commercialized and publicized festivities of the whole year that everyone around him has anticipated for days, and he has forgotten it. Great.

Second, because Suna likes him. He likes Osamu in that way and has said it with his usual disarming simplicity as if making a passing, casual observation. Like "It sure is freezing today" or "That plant on the windowsill looks dead."

And Osamu finds himself agreeing with everything. Yes, it is cold, the plant looks dead, and Suna likes him. Wait, really?

"Eat." Suna stops his train of thoughts by pushing a cookie between Osamu's lips, forcefully feeding him one that barely passes the requirements for being edible.

Osamu bites it mechanically. It's not horrible flavor-wise, but...

"Did ya drop eggshells in the dough?" He splutters, downing the last sip of his tea like a vodka shot. 

"Oh, maybe..." Suna shrugs, his green eyes glinting in mischief at the sight of Osamu's furrowed eyebrows. He reduces the distance between them even more, looking at him from beneath dark eyelashes. "So, did you like them or not?"

"They're terrible. Yer lucky I like you too." Osamu answers while his ears slowly reach the temperature of the sun's surface. It doesn't help that Suna is close, too close.

Everything's enough to make Osamu's brain short circuit, from his slightly upturned nose to the bags under his eyes that Osamu finds weirdly attractive. The ghost of a smile stretched on a pair of pinkish lips mocks him, and Osamu wants to kiss it away once, twice, a thousand times. 

"I hope you realize you're not being very subtle right now," Suna chuckles, his hot breath fanning over Osamu's cheek.

"And neither are you," Osamu says as he surges forward, his hand fisted in the material of Suna's hoodie. The brunet's lips are warm and still taste a little sweet, moving with purpose against Osamu's chapped ones. Maybe that's what being in heaven feels like, Osamu thinks the moment Suna's deft fingers lightly scratch his nape. 

They part ways after a while as bubbles of laughter explode inside their chests, a bright red tint riding high on their faces.

"Hey, 'Samu? Can you teach me how to bake next time?" Suna asks, planting a tiny peck on Osamu's cheek, where the skin sinks into a dimple.

"So ya can confess properly?" He side-eyes him, even if he can't put on a serious expression to save his life.

"Was this not proper enough?"

Osamu laughs at Suna's narrowed pupils, gently pulling him down by the neck for another kiss.

"It was perfect, Sunarin. It really was."

**Author's Note:**

> I know that valentine's day was last month but. BUT. I live in a different time loop and my sunaosa brainrot is permanent, so there's that. hope you enjoyed!


End file.
